You Can Run But You Can't Hide
by Secretclosetwriter24
Summary: Arthur, the personification of Great Britian has been running his whole life. From his past, from his memories, from himself. But what happens when the past finally catches up with you? And it takes the form of your 3 annoying brothers, Scotland, Wales and Ireland.
1. Chapter 1

The clock struck 12; a Goshawk soared across the blue sky casting a shadow across the blanket of sunlight that coated the gardens in front of the marble building. The building itself looked like a cross somewhere between Buckingham palace, the White house and the Leaning Tower of Pisa, with it's white columns and solid architecture. The gardens in front were in full bloom of lush grass whilst the trickle of the water clock from the Japanese gardens was the only sound that filled the air.

Sudden footsteps broke the silence. A young man, early 20's, tall and lean sauntered across the lawn. His face was unearthly handsome, in an outlandish rugged way. His shocking flame red hair was matched with his sparkling keen emerald eyes which hung above a perfectly straight nose, supported upon a square jaw on which was displayed a slight mouth which loosely held a smoking cigarette. The young man surveyed the grand house, running his bright eyes over its white marble structure, glinting windows and draped curtains. He paused a moment staring thoughtfully at the house. One toned arm hung loosely at his sided whilst the other sat astride his hip, making him lean slightly to his right. He stared lazily up at the sky, watching the Goshawk as it circled round the grounds; its shadow briefly overcasting the young man's remote eyes. Upon its passing, the young man once again looked at the house. Raising his lose arm, he clasped he cigarette end, drawing it slowly from his mouth, which upon release sent a thick unfurling fog into the sky. As the mist curled across the front of the house the man gazed thoughtfully at its marble walls. With a sigh, he spoke into the white mist residue that lingered in front of him. When he spoke, it came out with a slight highland twang-

"Soon," he murmured "Soon…"

"Yo, Brittan!" Alfred's bomber jacket flew out cape like as he raced after the retreating figure. The young man's bright blue eyes were covered slight rimmed glasses which in turn were partially covered by a lock of his sandy fringe. Despite his zany shouts, his older brother continued purposefully to his target-the houses tea room. Alfred sprinted down the red carpeted halls, passing the oil framed pictures that adored the walls, some depicting famous battle scenes including waterloo, the American Revolution and the Spanish Amarna. Grabbing his brother's shoulder, Alfred tugged him so that he had to spin round to face him.

"Hey bro, I said WAIT!" Alfred bellowed at his companion, glaring him in the eye arms planted on hips. His normally cheerful face was replaced by a scowl as he continued on his rant. "Don't pretend you didn't hear me when I know that you can hear me perfectly well what are you deaf as well as stupid and ugly man I don't get why I even bother with you country of courtesy and manners yeah right you can't even acknowledged your little bro how on earth are you meant to…" His words trailed off and the steam frizzled as Alfred finally noticed the withdrawn melancholy look in Arthur's dull green eyes. His shoulders were slumped making their height difference even more obvious than usual. His golden hair hung round his head, overshadowing the already dark and absent look on his normally stern proud face.

"Hey man, you feeling ok?"

It was the first time Alfred had ever seen Arthur look so… so... crestfallen.

"Woah man, cheer up your scaring me." Alfred placed his hand behind his head laughing too loudly in an effort to break the awkward and uncomfortable silence. "Seriously I don't know what's gotten into you these days. Where's that Great insufferable Britain we all love to hate".

He cocked his head to one side, still smiling too brightly, laughing too cheerfully. The young man looked up, his eye haunted with the dark red bruise underneath that glistened slightly. "Great…I ain't great. Everyone thinks I'm great, but I'm not. It just goes to prove how little you all know me." Arthur's monotone low voice made even Alfred's cheerful grin falter and fall as he studied his stricken bro. Arthur turned so that he faced the door to his personal tea suit, his hand already on the handle. "You need to stop calling me Britain." he whispered, his eyes glancing sadly at a thoughtful Alfred.

He gave a slight sigh as he pushed the door open, walking with his head downcast into the room. He glanced back at Alfred, who now had concern written all over his face. "My name is Arthur." His voice was barley a whisper…

Alfred's eyes trailed after Arthur's (a.k.a Britain/England's) back as he shambled into the gloom of a poorly it room. The wooden door slammed, jilting the gold plated "Britain's Tea Room-Keep Out Ruffians" sign that swung from a nail. Sighing deeply, Alfred gazed longingly at the thin oaken door that was all which stood between him and Arthur. How he longed to shove it open, race in to the ridiculously expensively furnished tea room, knock that dam scone out of a startled Arthur's hand and sweep him up into a passionate embrace of hot bodies and cool kisses…

But alas, Alfred knew that his fantasy would never come to pass-Arthur had never shown any feelings but brotherly love towards Alfred- now and always. Taking another deep sigh and shaking his head of the heavy thoughts that clouded his normally air-headed ness, Alfred took a deep breath and marched purposefully up to the oaken door. "Just you wait Britain!" He bellowed so loudly that Kiku (aka Japan) who was passing by in conversation with Yao (aka China) looked up startled to see who was being murdered. "Just you wait man," He continued, pointing an accusing finger at the oaken door, "I'm gonna find out why you've been so depressed lately and make sure to rub your God-dam idiotic problem in your face!"

With his speech delivered, Alfred turned on his heels and charged back down the corridor to work on a strategy to uncover Arthur's secret. "I fear bad things abode for our company" Kiku remarked to his companion. "Yeah, these Westerners are always stirring up trouble amongst themselves" Yao agreed, linking arms with Kiku as they headed off to study the gardens together for the fourth time that morning. "It's no use worrying, their conflicts never affect us." How wrong he was about to be.

Arthur listened unphased by Alfred's proclamation of war on his secret, reacting only by taking another sip of his earl grey tea as the later stomped his noisy way down the corridor. "Ruffian." he murmured into his tea, too lost in his own thoughts to notice the sting of the boiled water on his lips and tongue. Settling back down his saucer and cup, Arthur stood and arched his back stretching the tender muscles. His scar ached too, a thin white line that trickled down the base of his spine, stopping just short of his trouser lining. It seemed to have been flaring up more recently. Lost in his memories, Arthur reached back, running a delicate finger over the raised line that marked his skin. It was a reminder of what he had lost-and what he had survived. Even now, in the quiet sanctuary of his private tea room, Arthur's body shivered at the recollection of the biting cold, screaming of muscles too bashed and bruised to move. But most of all, it shivered at the ghost of a pair of hands that had once roamed free and unyielding across his chest and neck, traveling down his spine, caressing him as they went. "No!" he thought. "No, no, no. I shall not dwell on such horrors again".

Shaking his head to clear his mind, Arthur retrieved his army uniform jacket from where he had slung it over the chair, sliding the back so that it perfectly covered the scar. Gazing up at the unicorn shaped clock that sat chiming on the far wall, Arthur smiled mischievously to himself. It was time to go disturb fancy pants Francis's cooking again.


	2. Chapter 2

The young man stood in the doorway of the building, enjoying the last few breaths of his cigarette. The sun was halfway through it's journey in the sky, hanging lazily staring at the world below. The young man stared lazily back at the sun, his eyes burning with the heat of challenge as he attempted to glare it down. His doomed efforts were interrupted by a shrill voice that shattered the calm of the sunlit garden. "Scottttttt!" called out a young man who came bounding up the path towards the young man standing in the doorway.

Unlike the first, this man's face bore no judgmental frown or calculating coldness, instead was plastered with a welcoming beam that lit up his whole face. Though he couldn't have been more than a year younger than the first, he was significantly a head shorter than him, making his younger stature more pronounced. He shared the first's emerald eyes and roguish good looks, yet whist the first bore a shocking mop of wild red hair, he had a much more usual tamed light brown bob that fell about his shoulders. Despite this, the similarities were uncanny, making them look like brothers - with good reason.

The elder glanced at his younger sibling who stood smiling happily in the full glare of the sun. "Where's Darren?" he asked the second man in a slightly annoyed tone, dropping his cigarette and stubbing it out.

"I'm right here you great fooking blind bat!" A third man, younger than either of the others, sharing the same emerald eyes and roughish traits as his brothers but this time sporting a set of sandy blond spikes trundled up sulkily behind the second. 'Darren' as he was supposedly called looked around the silent compound and spat onto the polished marvel flagstones. "You sure he would be in a dumb place like this?" Darren asked in a voice so done with life (similar I believe to that of a sixth form student, I would know), mixed with the undertones of a strong Irish accent. "Of course he will be!" exclaimed the second man optimistically, who went by the name of Gale. "It's Iggy, of course he would choose some great fancy palace to hide away in." His speech was clipped by a slight accent that was half influenced by his northern pronunciation emphasizing his natural Welsh tone.

The first man silently looked once again at the building that loomed before them before turning to his companions. "It doesn't matter if it's the sort of place he would hide in or noot", his Scottish accent would have made the sentence sound funny if not for the cold serious look that haunted his eyes. "What matters is if he is there or not.."

The clock chimed noon, signalling the occupants that lunch would soon be served. The stamped of eager feet trundled down the corridors as the countries filled into the grand dining room. The beating heart of the building, it was a perfect sphere, with its walls and ceilings decorated in artefacts from all around the world. In the centre of the room stood a collection of long ivory gold tables forming a perfect square. Each place was set with the cutlery for that country, with China's chopstick's resting next to the delicate silverware of England, opposite the great chunky steak knives of America. Each seat sat before a golden laced plate, awaiting the delicate cuisine that was being lovingly prepared by Francis (aka France). As they filed in, they could clearly hear the abuse Francis was directing at a helpless assistant over the size of the rice balls. "He seems in top form."

He seems in top form." Kuko remarked mildly to Arthur as they took their seats, Kuko next to Alfred and Arthur next to Yao. Arthur said nothing, only sparing a glance at Alfred's searching face that now loomed in front of him before quickly averting his eyes to the plate again. He was in no mood answer his questions.

Francis hurried out, hastily brushing off a coating of flour that clouded the shoulder of his dark purple tunic. "So sorry to keep you gentleman waiting. The dammed assistant mixed up the mixture for the sauces." Only the faint trace of red marked the anger that Francis felt with his dishes being messed with. Arthur could barely contain his smile as he admired his efforts to once again mess with Francis fancy cuisine. Served that Frog right for taking over the kitchens.

He couldn't understand why the others preferred that bastard's food over his own, but the shame at having to hand the keys of the kitchen to that slimy frog was more than he could bare. Since that day, Arthur had been ensuring that all was not well in Francis's kitchen. So far, that French idiot hadn't realised who the stealthy attacks had come from. Wiping the smirk from his face on Francis's approach, Arthur watched as the corrected honey and lemon coated rice balls were served out to each member of the counties. His smile faded slightly as Francis took the one empty seat on his right, despite his allocated space being somewhere on the far side off the hall between Ivan (aka Russia) and Holly (aka Holland).

As the country's surrounding him began to tuck into their meal, Arthur couldn't shake the impression that Francis was staring expectantly at him. With the rice halfway to his lips Arthur suddenly stopped and scowl furiously at him. "Now look here you French pervert," he hissed leaning in slightly to glare at Francis, "I don't know what your game is, but I won't let your little mind games put me off my dinner". He then turned defiantly to begin his lunch. "Ohnohon, but Britain, I would have no need to use such mind tricks on such as small brain. Francis chucked slightly "Yours's couldn't even comprehend it's been tricked it's so stupid."

"You just say that again you Frog if you're a man. I'll take you on with one hand behind my back! But you'll probably run and cower back in that filthy kitchen of yours's, just as you did at Waterloo!" Arthur spat back jumping up off his seat, causing all eyes to turn to the squabbling duo. "

You arrogant beef headed Yorkshire!" Francis leapt to his feet, retaliating in defence of his food and honour, shoving his own reddening face inches away from Arthurs's own. "Your pathetic English cooking skills have no right to call my lovely palace of taste filthy. Why I bet you just swipe up the droppings of the rats that run through yours and bung them in those sorry excuse for pastries- pasties was it?"

"Why you slimy cowardly frog-"

"You poisoners of good cuisine-"

The two began to grab each other, shaking hard whilst shouting all manners of abuse at the other. Whilst the brawl continued, the seated countries returned once again to their meal. "Good to see Britain's back to his normal pompous self." Ivan remarked calmly to Alfred "Yeah, totally man." Alfred smiled mischievously. "I knew France would be able to snap him out of his stupor." He glanced over at the two bickering fools. "Though I must admit, I think they are going to kill each other this time…"

The two fools in question currently had their hands around each other's necks and were proceeding to throttle each other. The faces of both were turning an unhealthy colour and neither seemed to be breathing. "Don't you think we should stop them?" Koku asked worriedly as he watched the suffocating pair. Alfred and Ludwig (aka Germany) stood up preparing to pull the squabbling pair apart whilst Italia (aka Italy) sat begging for someone to get that "bully Britain off big Brother France". It was then that the doors to the hall flung open…


	3. Chapter 3

The noise of the doors opening with such a flourish had been enough to cause all talk in the dining hall to cease. Even Alfred and Francis had stopped trying to throttle each other, instead just standing opposite clasping the others collars in their hands. No one spoke as all turned to look at the doors to observe the intrusion.

It was at this moment that the red headed Scott, the brown bobbed Gale and the sandy blonde Darren marched into the room. Scott lead the way, his bright flame hair like a beacon to guide the other two. Still smoking his cigarette, Scott scanned the grand dining room with a look of mild disgust. He hated the grandness of it all: waste of money and materials in his opinion. Gale on the other hand was beaming at the stunned nations, giving them a little wave of greeting. Darren as usual was staring sulkily in the opposite direction, trying to look uninterested in the scene before him. For a while no one moved or spoke, unsure of what to make of the bizarre outcome. Even Arthur had let go of Francis's collar enough for the other to notice that he lacked more colour in his cheeks than usual. Not that Arthur wasn't pale but he looked like he had seen a ghost.

It was Gale that broke the silence. Stepping forward in front of his skulking brother he smiled again at the stunned nations before him. "Hello there" Wales greeted the silence, "I'm Gale, Wales at your service." Gale gave a little bow to the room before straightening up to the confused crowd. "So sorry to disturb you lovely gentlemen but we were looking for a certain nation who we believe to be living in your charming hall." The rest of the countries began to cast sideways glances at one another. It was at this point, amongst murmurs of confusion and suspicion that Scotland stepped forward. He took a final puff of his cigarette before dropping then grounding it into ash onto the velvet rug much to the annoyance of Holly who had only this morning vacuumed it of Italia's pasta crumbs. Scott looked up to fix the nations with his burning emerald eyes. "Can any of you't tell me if a certain Arthur of England has been living with you". At which point everyone had turned to Francis, who in turn was staring at the swinging door to the kitchens that marked the exit of one Arthur of England.

**…**

Arthur panted as he raced through the gleaming kitchen, swerving many times to avoid the confused and run down assistance who had been recovering from Francis's cooking 'perfection'. He couldn't believe that they had finally managed to track him down. "Shit!" he muttered as he raced past the contaminated sauce bowls which were an unhealthy blue and green from his powdered herbs. "Shitshitshit!"After all these years he thought that they would have given up on ever finding him. Not since he ran away from his own island to escape them all those years ago. "In fact," he thought to himself as he exited the kitchen, bursting out into the gardens "I seem to remember something similar to this happening back then". As Arthur navigated his way through the maze of hedges that covered the path to his secret getaway his mind was cast back to that time…

_It had been a dark night, accompanied by one of the worst storms in memory. Through the roar of thunder and fists of lightening, a bright blonde haired boy, no older than his mid-teens darted through the trees like a hunted stag. His soft green cloak covered him, shielded him from the rain. But it was not the teardrops from the sky that he needed protecting from. A voice called his name through the sheet of rain, "Arthur!" The voice carried over the thunders protests, causing the boy to only speed up away from voice. "ARTHURRRR!"_

_Faster, faster the boy ran, leaping over logs causing the woodland creatures to scurry into hiding at the flight of their friend. He had to escape, to get away was the only thought in his mind. A little light, bright green as his own eyes alight with terror, whizzed in front of him. It hovered in front of the boy, speeding along, acting as his beacon to guide him though the dungeon of trees. "Arthur!" called a much colder voice. There was no chance the boy was giving up now, not when he was so close. Finally, they reached the channel._

_The boy paused for a minute to get back his breath. The channel would be too wide to swim; he was still trapped on this island. His misty tears mixed with the rain on his face as he prepared to face his captors. The green light flitted in front of his face, catching his attention before flying over to an old wizened row boat that stood moored to the shore, bobbing gently despite the storm. With no other options the boy leapt into the icy cold water, which came up to his waist, using the green light to guide himself to the boat. Once aboard he cast off the rope that chained it to the isle and began to paddle away. The green light remained with him, like his own star leading him to freedom. He didn't stop until he was over half way cross, able now to see the shore on the other side which he had dreamed for so long now of journeying to._

_What the boy would discover once he reached the other side he didn't know-maybe here would be other countries like him, closer to his age who wouldn't treat him the way he had been. Now firmly out of reach, the boy glanced back at his former home. On the shores from which he had escaped stood three shadowy figures which watched him as he glided out of sight. The last thing the boy saw of his homeland was the red light being plucked from the middle shadows lips and grounding it out in the sands below…_

He had escaped back then and he would as sure as hell escape now. Arthur pushed on ignoring the stitch in his side as he rounded the corner to his secret hide out. No one, not even Alfred knew about this place. He could camp out here till his brothers got sick of looking and went home. Freedom was so close that he could almost taste it. He raced up the path into the apple orchard which lay at the heart of the maze. Going to the tree at the centre of the orchard, Arthur searched for the etched steps which blended into the natural patterning of the wood, shimmying up them onto the platform where his own makeshift tree house lay. Hurriedly he flung open the door, stumbling inside before turning and locking the door behind him. Leaning against it he panted, trying to gain back the breath he had lost. "So glad you could join us, Iggy" a cold voice smirked from behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur didn't even dare turn-there was no way they could've….

"IGGYYYYY!" Cried Gale as he raced forward, tackling the exhausted Arthur into a bear size hug, turning him round to face the others. Scott was sitting at the oaken table that dominated the centre of the room, sipping tea and biscuits from Arthur's private stash (how had he found those?). Darren was lounging across his cream antique sofa, ignoring the fact that his muddy boots were marking it.

"How…?" Arthur asked weakly, too exhausted and defeated to put up much of a fight. Scott finished dunking his biscuit in Arthur's favourite mug before popping it into his mouth. "Remember Iggy," Scott spluttered, spraying breadcrumbs across the rug (much to Arthur's disgust) "We're the ons who raised ya-we know all youre tricks and hiding places". Gulping down the tea Scott flung the cup down onto the table with such a force that Arthur flinched despite Gale's comforting embrace. He was surprised it hadn't shattered. Scott once again pulled out the case he kept his cigarettes in, lighting one that he was now drawing a great breath of. "Knowing that, all we had to do was send Darren out to look for the most likely place you'd run to once you knew we were here" Scott and Arthur glanced at Darren who was now scowling whilst examining the china bulldog which bore a union flag scarf. Sensing their gazes, he looked up at his brothers. "It was almost too easy" he yawned, practically dropping the china dog back onto the table, which also luckily didn't smash much to Arthur's relief. He still couldn't believe that his three brothers were standing here, in his own private getaway from all his everyday worries (chiefly them and Alfred). It was like a nightmare…"So," he sighed heavily having carefully extracted the arm of his least annoying brother from around his waist. "What are you guys doing here..?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Darren muttered from the couch. His shirt had begun to ride up so that his smooth toned stomach peeped through. Arthur supposed that people would have found it sexy if it wasn't for the fact that he'd knew he'd gotten them from tormenting him. Scott gave Darren a dark look which was ignored, before turning back to Arthur. "You know why we're here." He muttered equally darkly, walking slowly forward. His bright green eyes glowed hungrily as he advanced on his younger brother, backing him straight into the corner of the room. Gale had joined the hunt from behind, placing his hands on Arthur's shoulders to hold his youngest brother in place. Even Darren had managed to lift himself off the couch to flank Scott. Looking around, he knew that he was surrounded. There was no way out. Scott traced a finger across Arthur's collar bone, following the bone structure across, up his neck, coming to rest on his chin which he held fast, forcing him to look up into his own green eyes. Bright frightened emeralds met the dark hard mossy ones. "We're here to take you home…"

...

"So everyone" the long suffering Arthur eventually managed to utter to the stunned assembly of world countries. It had been an effort to coax his brothers down from the treehouse and back to the great hall under the guise of meeting the other countries. They had wanted to be off as soon as possible, but Arthur didn't want to go with them. He had tried everything, whining, protesting, lying that he had to pack his things, nothing had swayed his brother's from their mission to drag him home. The only way he had been able to buy a few minutes had been to request he be allowed to say goodbye to his fellow countries. Which then lead them to this rather awkward scene, in which they had walked in on the already confused uproar that Arthur's flight had ignited.

"I'd like you to meet my brothers." Inwardly Arthur was trying not to shake, both from fear and exhaustion. Scott stepped forward from his position behind Arthur, who in turn was being leant on by both Gale and Darren. To prevent him escaping again he presumed.

Scott surveyed the bewildered countries. "Thank you for looking after our wee li'le brother. God knows just how you've all put up with him." Arthur's face went bright red. Why that jerkfaced-

"Scott!" Francis had pushed his way to the front of the gathered countries, obviously drawn to the sound of his old friend. Scott turned to glance at him only to break into one of the first genuine smiles that Arthur had ever seen. Scott hardly ever smiled; if he did it was a cruel twisted one often at the expense of Arthur. Francis raced forward, jumping onto Scott who in turn welcomed him with open arms. "Francis me ol' friend, what rock you been hiding under?" The two of them laughed like drunken fools, chattering away about all the battles that they'd fought together in. Most, Arthur noted, against him.

He wriggled from under Gale and Darren's gaze, flopping down into the seat at the side of the entrance to the hall. His cheek still hurt from the place it had been scratched. So eager had he been to leave that he'd all but stumbled out of that treehouse. Scott had shouted the usual string of abuse, till tears had rolled down Arthur's cheeks. At that point, Scott had grabbed his chin forcing his head up. Fearing the smack that was to follow, Arthur closed his eyes. It therefore surprised him to have the cut tenderly dressed by the same man who had not just moments ago been calling him a worthless son of a bitch. Who was now laughing with Francis of all people.

"Monsieur, we really must pop down for a peti bottle and a catch up" Francis laughed, still clinging to Scott. For some reason the way that Francis was able to so carelessly touch Scott, without fear bought some colour to his cheeks. Oh God, he wasn't jealous was he? "I'm soeey Francis" Scott carefully detangled himself from the grasping Francis. "It'll have to wait till later" He turned his smouldering green eyes hungrily onto Arthur who cowered under their gaze. Scott lit his 3rd cigarette, taking a deep breath of it as he sat down next to him. He reached out his hand, placing it on top of his head, ruffling the strands of his light blond hair. Arthur couldn't repress the shudder. "We gotta get this one back home".


	5. Chapter 5

The silence in the room was almost deafening. Even Francis had stopped simpering over Scott to stare at Arthur. The Brit couldn't look at them. He could only stare at the floor. The moment he'd been dreading for 700 years had finally come true. He was going back home…

"Nah, don't be daft man" Alfred in all his idiotic confidence had strutted to the front, plonking himself on the other side of Arthur, placing a possessive arm around him. He didn't know who these people were but they sure as hell, weren't going to take away Arthur from him. At least not without a fight… "Britain belongs here where he can annoy the rest of us" Arthur looked at him in surprise at Alfred's protection.

"Alfred.." he murmured, his voice full of disbelief and gratitude as he looked with renewed affection at his saviour. It was a look that made Alfred's heart race, causing him to look away so that the object of his affections wouldn't see his blush. "I mean, who else could put up with him? He'd be killed before he knew it". The admiration in Arthur's face was replaced by enragement at the other's comments, making it all seem for a moment normal again. "You bastard…" Arthur muttered glaring at America.

"And just who are you to decide what Arthur should or shouldn't do?" Scott murmured poisonously, as he began to square off against the still beaming American. It was clear he didn't appreciate his prize being taken from under his nose. His cold expression did little to chill Alfred's beaming smile. Despite the friendly tones, it was clear to the onlookers that it was anything but. "Why, I'm Britian's younger, smarter, more awesome and hotter brother Alfred of America, but you can just call me 'Hero'." The two smiled at each other, but it was not a friendly smile. The atmosphere seemed to have cooled right down, making the on looking countries searching for an escape route. Even Ivan looked uncomfortable in the tense atmosphere.

"Iggy got himself another brother?" murmured Darren, causing everyone to jump as his voice broke the tense atmosphere around him. They'd forgotten that he had been there. "And you never told us." Darren strode calmly up to lean against the side of the couch so that he was looking down on the three seated before him. Gale bounded forward to join them, the only person in the room who didn't seem affected by the tense atmosphere. "But Iggy, that's marvellous! Why'd you never tell us?" Gale beamed at his brothers, who seemed to thaw a little under his smile. Encouraged by the Welsh-man's friendly manner, Kiku calmly stepped forward. "Please mister Wales was it…?"

"Call me Gale"

"Alright…Mister Gale. If it's not too much trouble, why do you keep referring to Arthur as Iggy?"

All three brothers smiled wickedly at this question, much to the dismay of their youngest.

"Well," Gale began in a cheerful manner "As you may or may not know, Arthur is not technically the country of Britain, since that is a collection of smaller ones rather than one bigger one, like Africa. In fact, he is the embodiment of the biggest and most predominant country, England. And being the youngest, it felt so formal to use his country name. We couldn't refer to him as Arthur since some Celtic Twat stole the name and became a hero, so we just refer to him as Iggy which means little England." A few of the other countries, including Francis chuckled at this. The 'Iggy' in question had gone bright red and was now in fact glaring at the floor. "A name I've never acknowledged or answered too…" he muttered defensively.

"Oh shush Iggy, you used to love it when you were younger" laughed Gale as he beamed at his smirking audience. "Why for a while you refused to be called Arthur and wanted to change it". "He sounded like a right handful" Yuo smiled, enjoying Arthur's uncomfortableness at the tale.

"Oh that's not even the half of it!" laughed Scott as he arose from the couch to address his eager audience. "Did you ever hear about the time Iggy got stuck down the rabbit hole…?"

...

Arthur collapsed onto the four poster bed in his private room, folding an arm over to cover his eyes. It was over. His entire life was done. Although he hadn't been dragged off home away from the academy, he had had to instead endure 3 tedious hours of his brothers spilling tale after tale of all his various slips, trips and fails that he had tried to keep hidden for all those years to the other countries. It hadn't been till half way through a particularly embarrassing story about the time he'd nearly drowned in a lake, (after Scott had pushed him in to "teach him to swim") that he'd been able to sneak off back to his room without every country laughing and pointing at him. He would never be able to show his face again. Even Alfred had begun to laugh at those embarrassing tales.

Though the fact that his brother's attention had been averted for so long gave Arthur hope that he may be able to keep them here long enough that he could pack a suitcase with all his most treasured possessions (his emergency tea and biscuits supplies, a set of his water proof suits, a miniature portrait of him and a young Alfred before the civil war, a couple of English pounds, Excalibur, a couple of his favourite mugs and tea set and his red bandana) before escaping them for good this time. If he was quick, he could be off at sundown and no one would be any the wiser. The thought cheered Arthur immensely. He smiled quietly to himself, revelling in his escape. He knew where he would go, to Belgium! Though little Belgina had a bit of a crush on him, the two had always remained close friends, both sharing a mutual hating of Francis and his stupid accent, laughing at their ridiculous customs. To this end Arthur had been one of the first country's to leap to Belgium's defence in the first of the World wars. He knew he would be safe there. He could always count on Belgina. He closed his eyes at the pleasant thought and began to drift off to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**_#-Warning, this chapter contains themes of a sexual nature which some readers may find distressing.-#_**

It was not long later that he awoken when the door to his room opened with the most ominous creak. Thinking that it was Kiku coming to check on him or Alfred coming to laugh at his embarrassment, Arthur sat up ready with a retort to the intruder on the manner's of knocking before entering. Which was why the words got a bit chocked when Scott strode in, fixing his brother again with his cold mossy green eyes. "N-n-now l-l-look here Scott, you can't just…" His protests died in his throat as his eldest brother began to prowl slowly towards the bed, his hungry green eyes fixated on his younger brother. "I can't what Iggy?" Scott practically purred as he crossed the varnished wooden floor, his hobnail boots scuffing the beautifully polished surface much to Arthur's annoyance. His lean and agile body allowed him to cross the room within seconds, reaching the foot of Arthur's bed. Trying to shake the terror the gaze caused him, Arthur cleared his throat again and attempted another bit of bravo. "Now look here Scott, you can't just walk in you know! You have to knock when you want to enter a room, not just barge in like the barbarian that you are." His older brother stopped, cocking his head to the side as though processing the younger's words. Arthur slowly drew himself back towards the headrest, the furthest he could get away from his brother without leaping off the bed and running away in the face of the enemy.

"You think that I should have knocked do you?" The elder one hissed in a tone that was so much lower and quieter than his normal voice that Arthur was quite unnerved. He knew what that look in his brother's eyes meant, as they scanned him from the length of his long legs, all the way up his chest to rest on his startled face. Trying to ignore the smirk on his brother's face Arthur twitched his head to the side, looking away from his brother in an act of defiance. "Yes I bloody well think you should. You can't just walk in like you own the place, it's impolite." The scent of smoke hit his nostrils. Arthur glanced out the corner of his eye to see the little bright red dot which signalled his brother's still present 3rd cigar. Arthur hated the scent of smoke, mainly because it reminded him of Scott. Plus, it did little to help the antique rugs and pictures that adored his room. "How did you even find my room anyway?" He didn't really want to know; he just didn't like having to sit in silence with his older brother staring at him like that. He saw the red light be pulled out of the mouth to allow some ash to drop onto the rug, an action he knew his brother knew he hated.

"It was simple really." the Scotsman sighed as he drew the cigarette back up to his mouth, plonking himself down on the foot of the bed causing Arthur to recoil further into the headrest. "All I had to do was ask dat goo' man Francis where you 'appended to be staying." There was a slight smirk in his voice as he said this "As you can imagine, he was only too 'appy to 'elp an old friend out."

That dirty rotten swine of a Frenchmen. When he got out of this mess, old frog's legs was gonna pay so much that no one would be able to eat his food for a week when Arthur was through! Imagine being sold out over some stupid puffed pastries-especially when he'd specifically told Francis to NEVER mention where he was staying to Scott. Rotten swine. "Well you don't need to have asked HIM!" muttered Arthur as he folded his arms, turning to glare angrily at his brother.

Much to the younger's horror, the older one had begun to crawl his way up the sheets of the bed, his muddy boots making great black brown marks across the dark blue background of his union jack quilt. Arthur's heart began to pound, his eye's shot open as he began trying to now (unsuccessfully) disappear into the headrest. He could only watch in terror as his brother made his way up, placing his hands on Arthur's frozen ankle before hand over hand pulling himself up his leg. "Why?" Scott purred, is eyes never leaving Arthur's frightened face "Did you want to tell me yourself, invite me up for one of our….chats?" Arthur's vision went slightly blurred, his breathing quickening in terror as the large strong cold hands of Scott caressed his thighs, trailing over his chest before coming to rest either side of his hips. From this vantage point, Scott pulled himself closer to his brother's face so that their faces were inches away, his body practically lying on top of Arthur. The younger's emerald eyes widened in panic and shock as he tried to edge his way out from under his brother in a vain effort to get away. However, the older brother was having none of that.

"You didn't answer my question…" he smirked as he straddled the smaller one's waist to stop him squirming. He drew his own powerful thighs in, trapping Arthur's legs under his, preventing him from kicking out as he had tried to previously. His hands raised from their position besides Arthur's hips to just above his shoulder, bending his left arm leaving his face barley inches away from his, forcing the younger to look him dead in the eye. Bright emeralds shinning with terror were locked by the powerful dark green ones that held them in place. Scott licked his lips tantalizingly, skimming the surface of Arthur's own. The younger was so terrified that he could only manage to squeak out his reply.

It was too much like it had been. Scott had cornered him like this, overpowering him before- No he wasn't even going to entertain that thought! He stared back at his brother who he had feared. Who he had feared before he had escaped that wretched Island. Arthur felt a streak of anger push right through him. He was not the scared little boy who had been in that Scotsmen's power before. He was the Bloody united kingdom's head! There was no way he was going to let this stupid overgrown oaf boss him around any longer. Summoning up the courage and strength his rush of anger had lent him he shoved the Scotsmen away from his face, snarling at the confused expression on his older brother's face.

"No, why would I ever want to do that?" He growled, the look of bewilderment on Scott's face further fuelling his bravo rampage. His defiance seemed to startle the Scotsmen, causing him to draw back away as if to properly observe his brother, sitting hard on his heels (still straddling him of course) with his arms folded, one hand holding his chin in a thoughtful manner. The defiant reply seemed to stump him; he wasn't used to his prey fighting back. That gave Arthur the courage to continue, saying what he had wanted to say for so many years. "After the way you and the others treated me do you really think I'd want to be anywhere near you filthy lot? Me tell you where I was? Why I'd rather marry that God forsaken Francis than ever have to see your ugly face again!" He regretted those words the moment they left his mouth.

The astonishment on Scott's face turned to one of cold malice. He pressed forwards, pushing his face right into the other's, sidling his lips across the surface of Arthur's cheek till they rested at his ear. His cold hands ran their way back up Arthur's thighs, pressing into his hip bones as Scott leaned into the Englishman's chest. Arthur shivered as his breath, still hot from the cigarette (which was now perched in his fingers) ran down his neck. "Now Iggy, me little brot'er," Scott's voice was low and menacing "that wasn't a very nice thing to say to ye big brother, now was it lad? Especially when I came all this way just to find you…" Suddenly he lunged forward, taking hold of the other's ear in his teeth, nibbling slightly as he travelled down it. To the other's astonishment and shock, his lips began to skim the soft skin beneath his ear, till he had travelled to the base of his neck. There, much to Arthur's dismay, he lingered, his lips pressed against the exposed white porcelain skin of his neck, breathing in his scent. "Now, since you've been such a bad boy," Scott whispered seductively with a hint of steel which cut straight through Arthur's soul, paralysing him in fear "I'm gonna have to punish ye…" Arthur shivered as he felt Scott's wet tongue lick at the cold skin. "And believe me," the Scotsmen continued "I'm gonna enjoy it a lot…"


	7. Chapter 7

Arthur stood shivering in the garden, and not from the cold night air. He had barely escaped back there. If not for Alfred who in his own stupid wisdom had decided then was the perfect time to rush in to torment Arthur about his childhood stories, Scott would have had him for sure. Instead, Scott had merely turned around to glare at the surprised Alfred before sliding himself off the bed (and Arthur) then calmly strolling out of the bedroom as if nothing had happened. Arthur was so relieved that even the taunts of the slightly baffled Alfred did little to dampen his spirits. After about 5 minutes of Alfred's mocking tones that he wasn't listening to anyway, Arthur had got up, flung his arms around the taller American, pulling him into a massive bear hug before releasing him and calmly walking out the room, much to his younger brother's surprise.

He felt anything but calm. It had nearly happened again. That one thing he swore no man alive would ever do to him. The thing that of all his brothers, Scott did and took the most pleasure in. It wasn't even the act itself. It was the malicious intent behind it. Scott knew that Arthur hated it when he did that, mostly because he felt it was wrong for 2 brothers to be in such an incestuous way. Which was why he had done it all the more back home.

But they were not back home now. Arthur wouldn't let it happen again. Not here, not now, not ever. Arthur walked to the edge of the balcony which overlooked the gardens and raised his head to the sky, the twinkling of the stars reflected in the lights of his emerald eyes. "I will never let it happen again," he told the moon, Orion, the Pegasus and North Star who looked down on him from the night sky. "I will never let that Scott's man have such power over me again!" he felt better for saying that. Turning around, Arthur gave one final glance at the sky before trudging back inside to get some much-needed rest.

A shadow slid out from behind the bushes. It picked the glowing ember of the cigarette from it's mouth and stamped it into the ground, as it watched the retreating Englishmen's back. "We'll see about that Iggy my lad," the shadow hissed, half amused, half predatory in both his gaze and words. "We shall see…."

…

The morning sun peeked in through the widow, spilling onto Arthur's face. The brit hoisted himself up, yawning at the interruption of his severely short sleep. His golden hair was an unruly mess, either sticking up defiantly on his head or clinging to the sweat on his skin from the nightmare he had had. He couldn't remember the details but he knew that they had something to do with Scott. Most of his nightmares involved the Scotsmen these days…

Arthur glanced at the clock. Crap! 8:45 am! That was way too late. He was missing the Brexit world conference hadn't anyone woken him up? It was practically vital he be there. Surely Alfred or Kiku would have come looking for him by now, yelling at him for being such a loser in missing the meeting. Throwing back the covers, Arthur yanked off his pyjamas (which held a picture of the English Lion sleeping) before yanking on his suit and tie. He threw cold water on his face and hair, whizzing a brush round his mouth before hopping out the door as he attempted to lace his shoes at the same time as brush his unruly hair which (despite the soak) remained defiant of any gravitational force he applied. Racing down the main staircase of the world conference hall, he particularly slid across the marble floor into the door marked "Brexit Conference". Stumbling in and panting for breath Arthur prepared to make his apologies. "Sorry I'm so lat-"

The scene that greeted Arthur was like one out of his nightmares. There at the head of the conference table, in the seat which he should have been sat and flanked by Gale and Darren was Scott, leading the meeting. His meeting! The other countries looked up in surprise at Arthur's entrance, Holly with her mouth open in shock, Kiki looking slightly perplexed, Yuko looking amused, Antonio (aka Spain) trying to calm an enraged Romano (aka Romania) who was trying to attack the brit, whilst Italia could very audibly be heard asking Ludwig "why Mr Brittan was up". Even Alfred looked confused to see him. "What are all you pricks looking at?" Arthur retorted, already in a foul mood "Why didn't you wake me up for the meeting? And why in God's name is that Scottish bastard sitting in my seat?"

All the countries seemed too astounded to speak looking instead at the trio at the head of the table. Even Alfred kept glancing between the Scotsman and the Brit, for once lost for words. A slow smile crossed Scott's face. It was a smile that sent chills up Arthur's bones. "My dear brother," he began, placing his elbows on the mahogany table, resting his head on his hands "Do stop shouting. Can't you see that we are having a meeting right now?"

"I can bloody well see that!" screamed Arthur, his face turning a deep red. "What I want to know is why the fucking hell you are charge of MY meeting?" He cried jabbing a finger at the Scotsman. The room had gone deadly quiet. All eyes turned to Scott who by now had taken out another cigarette and was currently in the process of lighting it. He took a couple of puffs, drawing in the thick white smoke, closing his eyes at the pleasure of his brother's confusion. When he opened them again, they were firmly fixed on the golden-haired Brit.

"Why you ask?" Scott's voice oozed venom with each syllable. "Because my dear brother, you woke with a high fever this morning unable to get out of bed. When I came to mop your fevered brow you clung to me, weeping about how you were too weak to move. You literally begged me to take over the meeting for you today so that you could rest in peace." Scott smiled at the purple rage that had begun to spread across Arthur's features. "And like the good brother that I am, I came down, informed your colleagues that you were not feeling very well and that you'd told me to proceed the meeting without you…"

Scott suddenly flopped back, throwing an arm over his head but keeping his eyes on his brother. "Since you're feeling better Arthur, you are welcome to take over the meeting. Unfortunately, I am obviously coming down with your illness as I feel too weak to move from this chair right now." A cold smile appeared across Scott's features, making Italia and several other countries flinch at it's cruelness. "The only way for you to continue is for the head of the meeting, you, to sit on this chair. Which of course is impossible if I can't move unless- you sit on my lap dear Iggy." Arthur was too angry to speak. He locked eyes with his brother, fierce emeralds meeting cold mossy ones. The other countries held their breath, waiting to see who would win in this battle of wills. The tension was so strong you could have cut it with a knife.

Arthur sighed, squaring his shoulders. As much as he hated being within 2 feet of his eldest brother, this was an important meeting and he had to take charge of it. Even if that meant sitting on Scott's lap. "So be it." Arthur said reluctantly, much to the dismay of a certain American. He made his way passed the gobsmacked rows of his friends and fellow countries, all whom he knew would never see him in the same light again after this. Scott smiled again at him, like a hunter who has caught its' prey in a trap of which it cannot escape. He pushed back the seat, allowing the golden-haired Brit to sidle through before reluctantly lowering himself onto the Scotsman's lap.

As soon as Arthur's bum touched his lap, Scott looped his arms around his younger brother's waist. He pulled the smaller nation into his chest, his gloved hands stroking the tops of the Brits thighs which caused the younger nation to shudder, much to his delight. "Now," Scott leered over the defeated Arthur who sat helpless in his lap "shall we continue?"


	8. Chapter 8

Hey guys, so I realised there are a lot of countries with human names which can sometimes be hard to keep track of, so I am going to put a list at the top of each episode from now on.

This way, it should help clear up any confusion:

Countries involved:

**Alfred** – America

**Antonio** – Spain

**Arthur** – England

**Belgina** – Belgium

**Benigno** \- Cuba

**Berwald** – Sweden

**Darren** – Ireland,

**Francis** – France

**Gale** \- Wales

**Gilbert** – Prussia

**Holly** – Holland

**Italia** – Italy

**Ivan** – Russia

**Kiku** – Japan

**Ludwig** – Germany

**Mathew** – Canada

**Peter** – Sea land

**Roderich** – Austria

**Romano** – Romania

**Scott** – Scotland

**Tyson** – Australia

**Yao** – China

**Tino** – Finland

Hope this helps and please enjoy!

* * *

As soon as the meeting had ended Arthur had leapt of his brother's lap and raced for the door, wanting nothing more than to escape the worst meeting of his life! How the fuck had he gotten himself into the position where he would be calmly trying to negotiate sterling and euro conversions with Ludwig whilst Scott had been quietly nuzzling his neck, making Arthur gasp from shock a few times for which he had to apologise and try to begin again only to have Scott's nuzzling intensify! He knew the Scotsman was just doing it to embarrass him but Arthur couldn't help feeling enraged at himself for letting it get to him. He was meant to be preventing the stuff that happened back home from happening here. Scott however seemed determined to thwart his plans, slipping in to mess with him at every step.

As he made it back to his room he slammed the door making the "No Entery to Ruffians" sign clatter against the oaken wood, threatening to break. But Arthur was in too foul of a mood to care. He was so sick and tired of his brothers always messing with him. Why couldn't they just go away and leave him in peace! As he flopped back onto his bed he let out a frustrated groan. Why was it that the brother he wanted to be with didn't want to have anything to do with him but the other ones that he didn't want near him seemed determined that they would follow his every move? It was just not fair! Staring at the noon light that quietly peeped in through the slit of the still undrawn curtains Arthur wondered if there was a God and if there was why he hated him so much…

A polite knock at the door jostled Arthur out of his thoughts. Initial a wave of panic leapt inside him that it would be the Scotsman come to pay him another of his special visits. "But," then he reasoned "if it was Scott then he would have already barged his way through, not bothering with a polite knock the uncivil cunt". Curious to see who it could be Arthur crept to the door and slowly opened it, preparing to slam it if it was one of Scott's tricks. "Arthur…?" the American's golden blonde hair and dark blue eyes came into view as Alfred peered into the darkness of the room, his eyes not having adjusted enough to glean Arthur's shape before him. "I'm down here you bastard…" the insult lacked the usual gusto as Arthur was in no mood to fight with the only brother he was pleased to see right now. He stepped to the side to allow the tall American in, walking to the heavy red blue and white drapes to allow the shy sunlight entrance into the room.

Alfred sat on the bed, allowing himself a small moment to feel the soft fibres of the blue, red and white union jack covers that his England slept on every night. He noticed that there were a couple of black marks on the cover which he swept off with a quick brush of his hand. He could just picture Arthur curled up on the sheets wearing nothing but the union boxers he had got him for last Christmas. Shaking his head, he looked up at Arthur who was gazing vexingly out of the window. The sounds of a familiar Scottish voice drifted up from the Archery range below-Francis had challenged Scott to a match earlier and from the colourful words in French it appeared that the Scotsmen was winning.

"Artie…" Alfred marred, his soft words breaking the Englishman out of the trance he had been so absorbed in. Arthur turned his troubled emerald eyes to Alfred, barley seeming to register that the other had invaded the sanctum of his bedroom, the one place he and all other nations were forbidden to enter. It scared Alfred, seeing Arthur like this, so lost, so quiet, so mild, so….distant.

"Come on bro, you gotta stop mopping around in your room all day and get out into the sun." The hearty American's words went seemingly unheard by the distracted Englishman. "If you never leave your room and get out then how are you meant to grow up to being a strong hero like me?" Arthur walked in a trance like state across to the bed, sitting next to Alfred on the bed, inches away but to Alfred he knew that he wasn't there. His mind was still with that Scottish prick who had come and ruined his and Arties perfect life together here! Unsure of what else to do, Alfred did what he had not done in almost 400 years…. He hugged his older brother.

The sudden embrace seemed to shock the Englishman out of his trance, causing him to jump away from Alfred in shock. He stared straight at him, startled and bewildered green emeralds gazing questioningly into serious hard blue eyes like he had never seen before. For a moment, they were not at the Word quarters of the world trade centre. They were back on the battlefield, back in 1781 as the defeated British men had gazed into that same American's eyes, his own filled with tears and a single question – why? And just like that day Alfred knew that he could never explain to his brother the reasons for his decision to leave their paradise together.

They stayed that way for a long time, each trying to read the others thought through the windows of their eyes. The Archery game seemed to finish admits cheers and claps from the other nations as the Scotsman was crowned victorious to the sound of every French cuss word under the sun. Then the cheering died down, being replaced by bird song as the nations made their way inside. After a while Arthur looked away staring at the floor for a second before leaning into Alfred's chest. He could swear he heard his little brother's heart beat though the warmth of his jacket. Right then, it was the most beautiful sound in the world. A little bewildered and awkward from Alfred's lack of experience in being this close to Arthur (except in dreams), the American stared at the Brit curled up on his chest, before placing protective arms around the smaller nations body, pulling him closer with his head resting on his. If only it could always be like this….

…

The Scotsman watched the scene through the clink in the door, his hands shaking in fury and supressed anger as the filthy American boy dared to touch HIS Iggy in such a careless way! That boy knew nothing. NOTHING of who Arthur was or what he had needed! When he was barley 100 years old, Arthur had been terrified of the storms and soldiers that invaded his boarders. Being too young to control them or defend himself, Arthur had been left with many bruises and cuts from his battles. Scott remembered the first time he had met England, after he had wondered onto a battle field…

_The weather had been unkind to the survivors of the battle. Bitter icy winds and sleeted rain made Scott feel glad of the sheepskin cloak that adored his back. Across the field he could see the littered silhouettes of the dead and dying, dotted like black Lilly's along the hill, their cries of anguish lost on the cruel breath of the wind. Scott was used to death. His whole life was built on him. Over the years he had learned to block out the calls for help and cries of the dammed. But that didn't mean that he couldn't still feel the pain of his fellow country men._

_Stepping over the remains of what was once the local farm boy Dan who Scott had taught to guide the sheep to the greenest pastures on the hills of the Highlands, Scott felt the familiar sting of loss. He hated it, feeling every loss on his country as if it were a wound through his very being. These were his people! His Family! And today they too had left him. His only rays of light, Scott's brothers, were too far away and young to travel by themselves to comfort him on days like this. When he would have to cross the battlefields of the dammed, counting his dead so that they're families would no longer waste nights sitting up, waiting of their men who would never come home._

_A wail filled the sky, cut off by the lightning that struck the earth. The Scotsmen turned his head to observe what poor soul had made his acquaintance with death. The cry began again, a high mournful wail of fear and… Wait. The cry was too high for even the youngest boy in the battalion, the cry being one who has started his mother's milk rather than just abandoned it. For the first time, there was life on the battlefield. Life that Scott was bound to protect._

_Leaping across the plain, Scott tried in vain to locate the sound of the infant. He normally sensed his people's presence, but this soul somehow evaded him. The young Scot raced to the boarder of the field, standing on the edge of his country. He had been warned by his forefather to never venture to that side of the line, for it was not his land to roam. The wail began again, this time more piercing and fearful as it was swallowed by the storm that raged over the battle scar on the land. Something in that cry called to Scott, and it's cry was for help. He saw the origin of the sound, a small bundle swathed in blue cloth tucked under the brambles of a bush which harboured the remainder of the enemy's platoon. Without a second thought in his head Scott turned his back on his country, racing across the unnamed land to reach the small bawling bundle._

_The did not see him, for the dead have no eyes to see by. The young Scott reached out to the small bundle, gathering him up in his arms before hastily retreating back to the safety of his boarder. Clouds roared for a brief moment before silencing at the triumphant heroes' return. He hoped the bards would write about this one day. Glancing down at the bundle he had secured, Scott tried to gauge the infant's identity, wondering which of his carless women had misplaced their son. But try as he might, the country could not connect with the small child's aura. Whenever he tried to connect with the boys soul, he found only a barricade shielding the boy's aura and yielding no information to Scott's probing. It was like the baby had no nationality at all, his mind refusing to submit to the Scots demand. Though he had had some stubborn subjects, none of them had ever been as blank or hard to read as this child. Why the only other beings he had seen achieve such a feat were his own brother countries, Daren and Ga…._

_Now Scott understood. The child was not a child at all. He was a country. More importantly, he was a brother. Scott's new baby brother. It wasn't anything that the baby, who was now gazing up at the Scotsmen with big blue trusting eyes, said or did. It was more a feeling. Like when you see your mother for the first time – you've never met her before, but you know instinctively who she is. Scott had not seen his mother, not since his brothers had been entrusted into his care. And now he had been given another by her, the woman who had abandoned him. And now she had abandoned another. _

_Drawing his cloak around the bundle to keep it warm, Scott checked the baby for any injuries. Judging by his size, the boy could not have been much more than 100 years old. Though young, it was clear that the child had already experienced much of the difficulties in country rule. His body was bruised and scratched from creeping through the undergrowth, whilst larger marks hinted at the violence of swords and death that had befallen his fellow countrymen. He was still so young, so vulnerable, unable to protect himself from the invader's attack. The barbarians!_

_The child was still looking at him, head cocked to the side as if studying his new brother as the elder studied him. Though he had the appearance of a child, the young boy's eyes sparkled with the intelligence and power that only a country could possess. Scott felt his iron resolve melt. Just gazing into the sweet cherub face of the boy brought a smile to his lips and a peace of calm he had not felt in since his brother's departure._

Many times after that, Scott had dressed his wounds after battles, taught him the best hiding spots from enemy troops, showed him how to hold and swing a sword with both his left and right hand, even let the little bastard continue to curl up in his bed despite the mud he dragged in or the way he wrapped himself around Scott's chest despite him being a boy of 1700. He would go back to that though - he wanted to be back there with all his brothers, back on their island away from these other self-centred shitty twats of nations (though Francis was alright). The only way that would happen thought was if Iggy came home. And as long as that fucking American blond-haired dick was still skulking around his brother, he knew that Arthur would never leave. Scotland pinched his cigarette. He would find a way to end this foolish relationship between Artie and his new brother.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9:**

Human names of the Countries involved:

**Alfred** – America

**Antonio** – Spain

**Arthur** – England

**Belgina** – Belgium

**Benigno** \- Cuba

**Berwald** – Sweden

**Darren** – Ireland,

**Francis** – France

**Gale** \- Wales

**Gilbert** – Prussia

**Holly** – Holland

**Italia** – Italy

**Ivan** – Russia

**Kiku** – Japan

**Ludwig** – Germany

**Mathew** – Canada

**Peter** – Sea land

**Roderich** – Austria

**Romano** – Romania

**Scott** – Scotland

**Tyson** – Australia

**Yao** – China

**Tino** – Finland

Also, someone bought up the fact that Ireland is actually older than Scotland. Ah, who knew? Well, in this story, though Daren is technically older, Scott is the most predominant

country after England, so takes on the role of Older brother to them all. It's always useful to find out new stuff though. If anyone else has any other facts about the Kirkland brothers then please let me know. They're some of my favourites of the Hetalia universe and it's always nice to find out more stuff on them.

As always, please read and enjoy.

* * *

Alfred's eyes were glazed over during his bosses meeting. It wasn't just the fact that he didn't have any real interest in what the president had said, half of it was normally offensive and the other half was just trash anyway. It was mostly the fact that he couldn't get over what happened yesterday evening. He had been holding Englishmanain, when he wasn't drunk and singing "it's coming home", but actually when he was fully conscious and aware of who was holding him. It was both exhilarating. And baffling. Why the heck had Englishmanain done that? It wasn't just the fact that he'd let America hug him without screaming bloody murder (his usual reaction) but the way he'd looked so relieved as he did so. And silent. SINCE WHEN HAD ENGLISHMANIAN EVER BEEN QUIET?

Lost in thought Alfred just nodded at his boss. Part of him reminded him that it was his lack of attention which had got him into this mess with his country in the first place. If only he'd been paying closer attention to the elections than the Brexit debate, but then again Arthur had looked so stressed…. "Alfred, are you listening?" His boss was literally inches away from his face, glaring at the absent-minded look in the countries eyes. "OH YEAH, course!" Alfred jolted himself awake, leaping up and slamming his fists on the table, striking his usual hero pose, maybe slightly too enthusiastically "Bri- I mean, THE OTHER COUNTRIES ARE COUNTING ON US! Let's rid this world of those nukes!" His boss sat down shaking his head at his country, wondering if it was too late to get a transfer to Kiku's department. He heard he was so much more focused than his country. "Alfred, nukes were last year's agenda. This time it's about our economy. The dollar ain't gonna sustains itself." He began to just drain on about how much of a benefit it would be if they sold off this share and that, but Alfred had already stopped listening. Gazing outside at the blonde-haired Englishman who seemed to have recovered slightly from the shock of his brother's arrival, shown by how had donned his traditional black cloak and was standing in a circle chanting evilly. No doubt he was trying to summon some crazy spirit again. Honestly, that boy was way too predictable.

"They'll never see this coming!" Arthur cackled to himself. This ancient right was a process developed by the druids of Sherwood were only those favoured by the Gods were permitted to meet with them. If anything was going to get rid of them this was it. Arthur drew in a deep breath. It had come to this. His brothers had been staying here for a week and already his life was unbearable. He had been followed by constant chuckles from the other countries, with Yao asking him how his 'swimming' was going since his people had tried to chase the Scottish Bonnie Prince after the battle had ended. Of course since it was Scott telling the story then the Englishmanish soldiers had come off as cowardly buffoons that the 'brave' prince had easily evaded. The others weren't much better. Gales constant sudden appearances normally involved leaping on top of Arthur during important meetings, 'cooing' over his cute little brother whilst said brother was trying to convince a room full of countries and their bosses that he was independent and strong enough to take care of himself from breakfast. Darren too had been suddenly appearing at random intervals. Often right before Arthur found his new riding boots caked in mud or the leather in his punk jacket ripped and Darren had been acting just a little bit too innocent for his liking. It was so annoying having brothers again. But now, with the help of this magic ritual, that shouldn't be a problem for much longer….

Steadying his breath, Arthur held out his hands and began to chant quietly to himself. It was an old Gaelic chant, whose meaning had been lost for thousands of years, so long that even Arthur had no idea what it meant. As he chanted the circle began to glow a slight bleached purple, one that hurt the eyes to look at and the mind to comprehend. This was it. This was how he was going to be rid of those pesky nations. Heat began to fill his mind as the circled warmed itself up for the procedure. The wind whistled around the space, never daring to cross the threshold of the summoning pendant. The animals and his mythical friends had already vacated the premises. The wild hungry look of determination in Arthur's eye had been enough to warn them to stay clear. With a final flick of his hands Arthur cried out the last words of the chant as a pile of blue smoke wrestled with itself out of the circle. He closed his eyes and coughed. If the spell had worked then all would be well. It had to work. It just had to.

Opening his eyes slightly, Arthur could just make out a tall dark figure at the edge of the circle, looming over him. He'd done it! He'd summoned the ultimate evil! With this he would be able to expel his brother to that miserable rain sodden land he'd called home. The smoke seemed to be ripping itself in two, allowing the figures features to come clear. Peering through the smoke Arthur prepared himself to confront the demon, who was currently gliding towards him. "Wait… what?!" Arthur cried out, confused and appalled by what was before him "What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

"Hallo" The demon smiled and waved pleasantly, his eyes closed happily as if he was some friendly farmer greeting visitors. "You called?" It said in a strangely calm voice that should not have been as menacing as it felt. But then Ivan had always had a way of doing that. "I called for the most evil being in the galaxy, not you, you Russian twit!" Arthur fumed, glaring at Ivan; then he remembered who it was he was speaking to and looked down apologetically. It never paid to mess with Ivan. They hadn't seen Canada in weeks…..

"No matter" said Ivan in that creepily pleasant voice he always seemed to carry. "I just came to let you know that your brother, the dear Scott is looking for you. I bumped into him a few moments ago and he asked me to pass this message onto you - Iggy, I'll meet you in The end Room 2012."

Arthur tilted his head. The portal must have made Ivan loopy. "Errrm, you sure you got that right?"

Ivan stepped forward so he was only a foot from Arthur's face. "Oh I'm perfectly sure." He said in a voice even more forcibly pleasant and calm then before. Arthur gulped. He had a sudden urge to do everything Ivan said. Stuttering his thanks, he backed away from the Russian before high tailing it back to the Nation's head Quarters. He wondered what on earth Scott could want at a time like this. And why the hell of all people had he sent Ivan to do it.

Scott stared out the window as he watched the little blonde Englishman racing across the lawn into the door. Predicatively, Iggy had tried to use Stan's summons in order to try and enlist a being to drive him and the others off. Of course, the spell had worked better than the stupid Country could have believed for he had summoned the most evil creature alive today. Of course, Scott had already managed to catch up with Ivan, asking him to pass on a small message to his dear little brother. He knew that Iggy could never resist a meeting in such a superstitious location. His brother had always been a sucker for that sort of thing. Scott smiled as he headed down the corridor. It was almost time. His poor brother had fallen right into his plan….


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10:**

Arthur steadied himself as he walked down the corridor. Room 2012 was just on the left at the end, though why his brother wanted to meet there Arthur could not even begin to imagine. All of the countries were wary of that room after the great 12:12:12 scare, so most of them avoided it. He felt that it was part of Scott's plan, using this room just to scare him. Why else would he suggest a meeting in such a room; he was trying to psyche him out. Well Arthur wasn't going to be messed with. He'd show that Scott how unafraid he was. He marched up to the door and was just about to nock when he heard voices inside; one was undeniably Scott; the other had a thick American accent.

"So you're saying that it would be better if your brother was to come with us?" Scott's voice for sure, plus Arthur could smell those foul cigars a mile off.

"Well, it might be better if he did. I mean, what's left for him here?" the American voice was quiet and low, almost sad in a way. Arthur put his hand to his mouth. What was Alfred saying?

"There's just no talking or reasoning with him, every decision he makes just has to be the right one." The American voice continued. "The other countries have been wary of him. Many are questioning his leadership choice. He's putting us all in danger and doesn't even seem to care about who he hurts doing it." The voice seemed to be sobbing. Arthur's heart sank. Did the others; did Alfred really believe he didn't care?

No way it could be Alfred. Sure, the two had had their differences but at the end of the day they were still brothers. And besides, he'd been one of the few countries who'd stood up against Scott for him. So that voice couldn't be him, there must be some mistake. Arthur pushed the door slightly open. He could see his brother's back, dark red hair aflame and, as he thought, cigarette smoke rising above his blue clad shoulders. Beyond him he could see a blonde headed country and it did seem to be the right height for Alfred. He couldn't quite see the face, but he'd been certain he heard an American accent just now. Arthur considered pushing the door open and asking them what the meaning of calling him was, but a curious and insecure part of him wanted to make sure that he wasn't imagining the things Alfred had said.

He heard Scott sigh. "Have any of you told him this? He's always been a stubborn one but he has a good heart." Did those words just come out of Scott's mouth?

"No, it'd be no good." The America voice again. "he doesn't listen. Plus, it would just cause fights with everyone. You see the way he acts in meetings. Relationships are bad enough as it is." There was a pause. "It would be better if he would just go back home and mind his own business, and we could avoid all this fighting. Goodness knows he's messed his own country up enough."

Arthurs heart had stopped sinking. It had catapulted itself to the bottom of his stomach, where it was dashed to piece. Alfred wanted him gone? And the others two? But he thought he'd always gotten along with them. Sure, he and Francis thought but he didn't mean any of the things he said to that French frog! He just enjoyed winding him up, like they had in the old days! They were practically cousins, as were many of the other nations. But maybe all this time, they'd really meant all of the things they'd been saying. And maybe he should just go home.

Scott's back paused, lifting the cigarette from his mouth and letting out a puff of smoke. "I'm sorry you feel that way about him. He's truly a good nation and a decent brother."

The blonde figure's head shook. "Well he's never been a good brother to me. Or anyone for that matter."

Tears began to well in Arthur's eyes. Millions of images, him and Francis arguing over who should take care of Alfred, giving alliance flowers to Ludwig getting drunk with Alfred, discussing culture with Kiku, showing Alfred his collection of toy soldiers, they all raced through his head. Had they all been a lie? Had all this time they'd really just been putting up with him, just like everyone else? Arthur stumbled back from the door clutching his mouth to stop the sound of sobbing coming out. He couldn't listen anymore, he had to get away. He had to find somewhere he could sit and think. And cry.

Turning heel, he raced down the corridor, away from room 2012 and towards the gardens. Though his brothers may know about the place it was unlikely they'd come looking for him, and at least there he knew he wouldn't bump into any other countries. He'd be alone, just as he always was. As Arthur flew down the corridor, he passed Kiku who called out to him, but Arthur was too consumed by his thoughts to acknowledge the country's presence. Kiku watched the Englishman as he turned the corner, puzzled as to what could have caused the normally swagger country to break down like that.

He turned his head to see Mr Scott exiting room 2012, thanking someone behind him as he left. He glanced down the corridor once before heading in the same direction as the fleeing Englishman. As he passed there was a look of cold triumph on his face that made Kiku shiver. "Everything alright Kiku?" A small voice that seemed to come from thin air asked him in a concerned manner. Kiku turned round, forcing himself to focus hard. "Hello Mr Matthew. I didn't expect to see you here, I mistook you for Alfred." The air seemed to sigh and for a moment, the Japanese man could see a smallish blond-haired boy with blue eyes similar to his brother, though these were averted downward and hidden under his floppy hair, rather than erect and shining like his brother. "It's alright," Matthew sighed, pulling his small bear friend closer "Everyone always does. I really should be used to it by now." Kiku nodded at the small Canadian who was dipping in and out of focus. The poor country was often mistaken for the American, though the two were very different. Even their voices sounded kinda similar; if Alfred ever calmed down and stopped boasting that is. Personally, Kiku preferred the quitter less brash Canadian, sympathising with his predicament. It must be hard to have a brother you didn't get on with.


	11. Chapter 11

Arthur's breathing began to calm as he counted backwards from ten. It was a trick he had used back home when he'd found a good hiding spot and needed to calm his breathing after being chased by his brothers. He'd raced to the treehouse and was now sat with his back to the door, desperately praying that none of his siblings had told the other countries about his sanctuary. Right now he didn't want anyone to see him. He was once meant to be the mighty British Empire, who could strike fear into the heart of Spaniards, regularly going into naval battles and nicking Antonio's gold, (which the Spaniard still held a smalllllll grudge over still), marching across the regions of Germany and Italy for spoils, or disguising himself as a pirate and talking to the far off shores to claim new land and riches, along with his favourite sport, annoying and beating up old fancy pants Francis on the battlefield. Even at one point he'd owned a third of the world under their renowned monarch, Old Queen Vic. But since Alfred had left him, all of that had lost its appeal.

There was really no point coming home from a good conquest, or naval raid, if there was no small sparkly blue-eyed country to greet you, marvel over all of the spoils you'd gathered and hear the tales of your bravery. Every time he'd gone to visit his little brother, Arthur had always promised himself that he wouldn't be like his big brother's, that he would care and nurture for this little country as he never had been, ensuring that he would one day grow to be a great nation as he'd been. So it had made it all the harder when he'd received the news of the American rebellion…. And how Alfred had been leading it:

_Arthur stared at the portrait in his home next to Windsor castle, of a little Alfred, running happily through the field where he'd first met the little country. It was hard to believe how much he'd grown. Or how strong he'd become. Arthur smiled with pride at his little brother. He was going to be a great nation some day and he; his big brother Arthur was going to be there to guide him along all the steps. The kid was almost there anyway, taking on bison from when he had been only 100 years old, to now singlehandedly holding back nations like that stupid Francis all by himself. It was a relief to see him so happy and independent. In a way, Arthur was reminded of himself when he looked at Alfred, a thought that was always followed by a feeling of sadness and regret whenever his thoughts strayed that way. Perhaps he could have been such a strong nation so young if his own siblings hadn't spent their time chasing him and beating him up. Then they could have all ruled together. Rather than him having to force their compliance._

_ The door flew open and a rather exhausted yet flustered Samuel Salisbury stumbled into the room. _"_Great Englishman, my honourable country…." He gasped before collapsing onto the floor, splayed like a runover starfish._

_"Woah there, you can't just come barging in like that" Arthur cried out in alarm, concerned over both the man's health and etiquette. He rushed to his side and tried to help the puffing messenger up shakily to his feet. _

_"I'm so sorry sir." Samuel apologised, taking a deep breath before continuing, attempting to stand with as much dignity as one can in a coat covered in floor dust. "But I bring some devastating and tragic news. The Americans have shoved our tea supplies into the sea at Boston harbour, so our supplies are running low."_

_"Whatttttt?!" Arthur cried out in terror. "What barbarians! Why would they do something like that? Tea is a sacred herb that every true gentleman holds a great regard and respect for!" He turned and marched over to his desk where a rather startled Bald eagle was sat waiting. "Alfred will hear of this! Just wait till I tell him of the ungentlemanly way that his country men have acted!"_

_"Well that's the thing sir." Samuel mumbled, looking a little akward. "Alfred's the one who ordered them to do it…."_

_Arthur paused in his furious pen scribbling. He couldn't have heard that right. Could he? "What do you mean?….Alfred would never-" _

_"I'm afraid it's true sir…." Samuel looked uncomfortable, staring down at the floor and avoiding his countries enquiring eyes. "He said him and his people were fed up with the taxes you were imposing on them, so he and this group called the sons of liberty organised this big protest. Apparently if you won't listen to him, you'll listen to the tea."_

_Arthur felt numb. It couldn't be. Alfred would never hurt him. Not his little brother._

_"They are threatening to become independent if you don't change the taxes."_

_Arthur stared out the window. A familiar feeling began to bloom in his chest, one of pain, regret, but chief amongst them, one of betrayal. The burring acid coated itself round Arthur's heart, boiling inside him, making a hot pain fill his brain. Why? Why did this keep happening? Why did the people he loved keep trying to hurt him?_

_"How dare they! After everything that I've done for them!" He screamed, flinging the ink pot in his hand across the room at the smiling portrait of Arthur. If it was a war they wanted, then a war it was going to be. He would send a full armed battalion to remind Arthur of his love! Arthur sank to the floor. For a moment there was silence, before he began to chuckle menacingly_

_"Sir…..?" Samuel ventured, approaching the fallen country, darkly chuckling on the floor. _

_"Summon the troops Samuel." Arthur ordered, a murderous look in his eyes as he lifted himself up to face him. "We're gonna show those American's what happens when you mess with the Great British empire!"_

_Samuel looked shocked for a moment, then nodded and bowed to his country. "As you wish sir." He then exited the room, leaving Arthur alone with the portrait of his once beloved brother. "Just you wait…." He murmured, as he watched the ink stains that would soon turn to blood stains._

Course America had won the war of independence and Alfred had once again been left alone. Recently, he'd cleaned the ink spills off of the portrait of a young Alfred and hid it in his treehouse, along with a handkerchief he'd received from Francis at the marriage of King Henry V and Catherine of Valois, one of the few times the two countries had been united, a diplomatic agreement along with the flowers he'd given Ludwig back then and a Hong Kong Flag which had been given in appreciation from Kuki. There were gifts from the commonwealth, such as a cuddly wombat toy from Tyson and a box of barfi (Indian sweets) from Dhruv. All reminders of how he'd once been surrounded by people he loved. But now they were all gone. And he was once again left alone….


	12. Chapter 12

"GOOOOOOOOOOODDDDD EVENING Y'ALL!" Alfred cried as he leapt out into the lavish tearoom, where some of his fellow countries were seated already. Amongst them was Holly, the rather mature and friendly country of Holland, who was currently fusing around little Peter, the youngest Country of Sealand (though Arthur had yet to acknowledge him), wiping his mouth of the chocolate that Berwald must have snuck to him. Berwald always made sure to have his country's finest Swish chocolate on him, though this was more often for unwanted romantic offerings to Tino, the more timid but rather sweet country of Finland who was always trying to refuse his advances. So far, the young Finish man had only succeeded in becoming the Swede's bride, one whom Berwald was very protective over and could often be found looming behind. Across the room Kiku who had changed into his traditional Japanese Comodo (It was his 2500 birthday coming up soon) was seated next to Yao who was discussing the comparisons between traditional Chinese etiquette with Kiku's people. Besides them was a rather distracted Austrian, Roederich, who was ignoring the attempts to flirt with him by the tanned dark-haired Spanish man besides him, Antonio, and was instead gazing across his rimmed glasses at Holly.

Other than that the other seats were empty, though if Alfred squinted very carefully to the chair on his left, he could just make out the faint outlines of his brother Matthew, who was attempting to give him an evil glare from his chair, though only succeeded in making the same face a puppy dog does when it's trying to be threatening, though his efforts were being praised by his Cubian friend Benigno. Alfred didn't mind, he'd never really gotten on with his 'brother' country anyway.

Alfred turned his head to the empty place between another tanned, more buff version of Antonio and a pretty little blue eyed girl with a blonde bob that could have been Francis' sister. He knew that the good looking buff country was Tyson, an Australian who's accent came off as the ramblings of a good humoured, deep toned adventure, whom many a country had gone weak at the knees for (even if they had no clue what he was on about). The little blonde girl he now recalled, was Belgina, a sweet though fiery nation who he recalled had a close link with Arthur, Belgium and England being just across the sea from one another. In fact, both countries had a good relationship with Arthur and seemed to be one of the few who could tolerate the rude blonde-headed idiot for long. And Arthur in turn had seemed much less objectional to their company than he had Alfred's, hence why they were all sat on the opposite side of the long hall to him. For some reason that made him feel a little sad.

Shaking his head, Alfred sat down and immediately switched into his normal cheery self. Since Arthur nor his brothers hadn't arrived yet, he may as well enjoy himself. "Yo Francis!" he yelled, startling the Frenchman who'd just walked through the door, "Come sit by me bro!" Smiling the French man walked towards him, with the air of one who has only spent 3 hours grooming himself this morning, shy of his usual 3 and a half hours. "Oui, Mousier, I see you are in good humour today, no?"

"You bet I am!" Alfred beamed back as Francis took his seat. " I hear it's Italia's turn to cook today, which means I'm gonna get hamburger meatballs and spaghetti pieces!"

Francis smiled wistfully "Ahhh yes, poor little Italia. I have no idea how he'd going to manage such a tremendous task all by himself." Francis held his hand to his chest "It makes my heart positively burst just to think how my poor Italia is cooping".

Was that the light of a halo coming from behind Francis head?

Nah, dude always got like this when he was laminating so.

"Doooonn'ttt worry my dude!" Alfred reassured a suddenly, poetically grieving Francis, "I heard that Ludwig's gonna be supervising him so that he doesn't go overboard with the pasta again. I mean last time we were literally swimming in the stuff for a week."

"Donnat remind me." Franics winced, the light aura turning to dark overtones. "I'ah still get nightmares about waking up to brush my long silky blonde hair only to discover half of it coming out in clumps. I was so terrified that Italia's heavy pasta had destroyed my beautiful locks, butta mercifully it was only some stray strands of spaghetti."

"I hear yah bro." Alfred nodded, remembering his failed attempt at the all-spaghetti-hamburger and the even worse catastrophe that had been the penni and macaroni blended smoothie.

"By the way, when's Arthur getting here?" Alfred asked non-challantly. Across the room Ivan had just entered, being greeted by eyeball daggers from the Swede that could have destroyed any country other than Ivan, as he scooted closer to a rather worried Toni. Behind him came a rather gauntly Gale, who had just spent the morning in the Gardens chatting with Darren, who came up behind him and as usual looked as 'thrilled' as ever to be here.

"I'ah do notta know mesumi. I have not seen little inegalitaria all day." Francis frowned. "Nor for thata matter have I seen Scott. He promised that we woulda go drinking together later today."

"Yeahhhh, bummer man." muttered Alfred, his disdain for the red headed Scotsman only trumped by his concern for the blonde twit. There was just something about that dude he didn't trust.

"Ahhha Well." Francis said, leaning back in his chair, suddenly for some bizarre reason excruciating flowers from his head (man that dude was weird) "I'm sure they will turn up at some point."

As if right on cue, the tall red-haired Scot's man entered, initially making to drop his cigarette on the floor and stamp it out as he had before, but paused when he suddenly caught the evil glint in Holly's eye, before deciding better of it and placing it in the ash tray at the side of the entrance.

"Scotttttttt!" Francis called, waving at his pal from across the room. "Comma sit next to me!"

Please God no, Alfred thought to himself. Scott smiled, shaking his head sadly before pointing to a space in between his brothers which he sat in, oddly enough, Alfred noted, facing the empty seat Tyson and Belgina had saved for Arthur. It was becoming weirder now that they'd shown up that the little country had yet to be seen.

The door's burst open and a tall white-haired gentleman, clad in his grand dark royal blue uniform strode in, a mad grin on his face. "Surrender you cowards, the greatest country amongst you has arrived!"

Gibert stood at the head of the table, his fists raised high and his manic eyes cast skywards as though he was praising the heavens. The other countries ignored the Prussian and carried on with their conversations. They were used to him by now.

"I still think it was a mistake to let such a ruffian take head country today." Francis shook his head concerned, "Youa know that he'll spend the whole time insulting Italia and that will only annoy Ludwig more than he normally does." Alfred didn't get it either, but to stop country infighting, they'd settled on a rota for who got to sit at the head of the dinner table each day. Personally, since he was the hero, he thought he should always be the one sitting there. Yet when he'd bought it up in the meeting recently, they'd all turned it down. Arthur had even called him a wanker and attention hog which had led to their weekly meeting kafuffle. He always looked forward to wrestling with the little blonde-haired Englishman.

Speaking of which, the same blonde-haired idiot had just walked through the door and seated himself next to Tyson and Belgiania, without ONCE LOOKING UP TO ACKNOWLEDGE ALFRED'S PRESENCE! Who did he think he was ha? Didn't he know Alfred had been worried about him all day. Well to be fair he hoped he didn't.

'Mind you' Alfred thought as he took a closer look at the little Englishman, 'he looked so pale and dejected, sitting there'. Even the happy chattering's of his surrounding countries seemed to be doing little to excite him. And if Alfred looked closely, he swore he could see little dark red circles under Arthur's eyes. Why, he hadn't looked this bad since the civil wa- Alfred continued to stare at the Englishman who was currently avoiding everyone's gaze.

"Countries, prepare yourselves for the meal of your lifetime!" Ludwig's booming voice could be heard even before he burst through the door, "Prepare your knives and forks, chopsticks and hands to do battle with Italia's delicious meal!" It seemed dinner was about to begin.


End file.
